


Amulet of Ambition

by sophluorescent



Category: EXO (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Alternate Universe - Gods & Goddesses, Animal Sacrifice, Blood and Violence, Everyone's a Villain, M/M, Resurrection, Ritualistic Self-Harm, Temporary Character Death, Witchcraft
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-05
Updated: 2020-12-05
Packaged: 2021-03-10 02:09:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,839
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27896587
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sophluorescent/pseuds/sophluorescent
Summary: The deal with the witch was meant to end with Yixing getting his protection object—and the witch dead. It doesn't.
Relationships: Byun Baekhyun/Zhang Yi Xing | Lay
Comments: 1
Kudos: 11
Collections: Round 1 of Tales of the Lotus Fest





	Amulet of Ambition

**Author's Note:**

> Written for Round 1 of Tales of the Lotus Fest! Originally, I wasn’t going to join (mostly because I was starting classes and moving, and just, generally going to be in a state of chaos), but the prompt previews really suckered me in. Plus, I’ve been itching for a Yixing-centric fest for a really long time.
> 
> It's not finished, and I'm very grateful to the mods for allowing me to upload a WIP! That said, I am having a lot of fun with the prompt and I hope to finish it up once I have the time~
> 
> Please be wary of the tags! There are a few that can definitely be triggering, and I don't want to unintentionally harm anyone. But, that said I hope you enjoy reading, if you do, please let me know via the comments or kudos button! I love hearing your thoughts. <3

Ever since Yixing has tasted power, he has hungered for more of it. There is pride to be had in looks of envy, of desire, of _hate_. It’s a matter of meaning something to someone else by nature of merely existing. It’s a matter of commanding their attention despite not knowing, nor needing to know, a thing about them.

There was a time when Yixing was like that—jealous—with nothing to his name, legacy, or look. But, with a tongue like silver and nails like knives, he had grabbed wealth by the neck and so delivered it upon himself.

Now, sitting atop a horse as expensive as a house, trailing alongside a caravan that holds enough luxury to buy a country, he thinks that wealth is merely too simple a game. It’s power that anyone can have, so long as they play the game right.

The only thing more sweet than power earned by riches is power granted by _right_. That which is commanded by those kings and queens who, by luck of the draw, managed to see themselves born into families with _legacies_ , with power that transcended generation.

Even if Yixing established a lineage, he would not reap the eventual reward that is nobility. _No_. Some manner of great grandchild would, and that would be assuming no one squandered the wealth once inherited. The real source of that wealth, that child with nothing who fought to have something? He would be forgotten.

And that’s not what Yixing’s looking to be—forgotten, that is.

“ _Sir_.” A voice interrupts his thoughts. His gaze flicks over to the guard. “There’s a camp up ahead.”

Yixing hums, looking over the guard’s shoulder, up the road. Indeed, there _is_ a camp. Only a few tents all clustered together. His men could easily set fire to it and let it burn before they pass through—just in case the vagabonds turn out to be thieves or some other rogue-ish bunch. But, that would be a delay. He’s not interested in prolonging his journey any longer than it’s already been.

“We’ll pass along as normal. Tell security to be observant,” he commands. The guard nods and rides down the caravan to alert the others. Yixing merely straightens his shoulders and narrows his eyes, curious for the encampment up ahead. It hadn’t existed at the time the caravan had _departed_ from Kaslina, and it didn’t look like the permanent sort of settlement that would exist much longer after their return to Kaslina.

That remains true the closer they ride. The people there wear the clothes of travelers, not of settlers. Light packings that allow them to move quickly and soundlessly. They travel with cages of chickens and harnessed oxen and dogs. There’s no cattle paddock, nothing that keeps the animals in place. There’s no logs that suggest a fence will be built soon.

The head of the caravan passes through the encampment without issue. Yixing, riding alongside the middle, relaxes somewhat. Until a voice interrupts and puts him back on guard.

“You look… unfulfilled,” the vagabond murmurs, turning their face up to gaze at Yixing. They’ve a mop of messy, hickory colored hair. It’s coarse, in certain places it’s even matted. In others, it’s braided together with colorful pieces of thread. Yixing’s eyes are drawn to it because of the way it flops into the man’s eyes at the cock of his head.

Eyes that are a gentle, warm shade of brown—sparkling with something akin to mischief. Smile lines just barely wrinkle the corners of those droopy lids. Sweat beads and runs down his temple.

“Unfulfilled?” Yixing murmurs, arching a perfectly shaped brow at him. He grins. “I have plenty.” He motions down the line of wagons and pack animals, at the guards and the servants. And when he returns his hand to his lap, he lets his rings glint in the sunlight, if only to solidify his explanation. “Who are you to say I’m not?” he asks, brows furrowing, curiosity seeping ever so generously through his limbs.

The vagabond grins. “I’m Baekhyun, and I know many things about many men. Enough to trust my instinct.” He rises up from his crouch next to the fire, patting his hound’s head as he does so, and steps close to Yixing’s horse.

Yixing’s hand falls to the hilt of his sword. Baekhyun’s gaze follows it, but he’s unbothered by it, stepping even closer. He reaches out and lays a palm over Yixing’s horse’s muzzle, his fingers dancing across the animal’s velvety snout. “Perhaps, you don’t even know what you're missing?” He suggests, continuing to stroke the horse. His eyes never leave Yixing’s. “I can always do a reading, or perhaps, I can interest you with one of my wares. You seem like the type that could benefit from them.”

Yixing glances behind him, at the fire he’s left behind. Indeed, abandoned next to it, is a bag of items, as well as a free assortment of material scattered about. Such as a necklace of braided golden rope lying on the rocks, a deck of painted cards, and few twisted, metallic rings. Chicken bones litter the place as well—no doubt harvested from the animals that pluck around the tents.

“I’m not a fool, Baekhyun,” Yixing says. Baekhyun’s eyes flutter at the sound of his name rolling off of Yixing’s tongue, and his smile never falters.

“A fool would pass up my offer,” Baekhyun proposes, his hand moves from the horse’s snout to Yixing’s boot where it sits in the stirrup. It’s a gentle touch—one Yixing can’t even feel through the expensive leather. It’s a submissive touch. “Come, let me scry into your future. Perhaps, you’ll need a talisman?” His hand leaves the boot and reaches up for Yixing’s hand.

As soon as skin meets skin, Yixing feels a shift. _Sees_ it too, as Baekhyun’s eyes glint much like a coin turned over in the sun. It’s an unnatural thing to happen, but it’s gone just as quickly as it had appeared.

Baekhyun’s smile widens. “ _My_ … you _will_ need a talisman. Protection, perhaps?”

Yixing holds his gaze and then, cocks his head. “How much?” He asks. Unease has soured his initial curiosity. Now, he fears that there is merit to this Baekhyun. Something about him that Yixing can’t quite trust. Something _real_ , that isn’t meant to be.

“Consider it a gift, so long as you let me take a glimpse,” Baekhyun says, his hand warm where it clasps Yixing’s. He’s strangely steadfast, completely unconcerned of the threat Yixing poses to him.

Yixing’s hand falls away from his sword. Baekhyun’s hand returns to his side, and then, he turns, earrings jangling together, and scoops up the deck of cards, the bag of items, the golden necklace, and a flaming piece of wood from the fire, and disappears inside the tent. Yixing looks to one of the nearby guards. “I’ll only be a moment,” he says. “Take the time to rest.” He’s going to see what this Baekhyun is like, take his talisman, and kill the man. Already, he feels as though Baekhyun knows something about him that Yixing would never trust himself to have shared.

He dismounts, passing the guard his reins, and follows Baekhyun into his tent. It’s small, the roof low-hanging, and it’s uncomfortable. Not because of the decor, but because the place _looks_ like a home, and should feel like one, yet it doesn’t.

Baekhyun’s sat in the middle of it, amongst fur and fabric, stretched out to light the various candles set about. There’s a floor-table in front of him that appears to be made of a large, flat rock. Yixing doubts Baekhyun transports it around, so he must have found it whenever he set up camp.

“Sit down,” Baekhyun requests, motioning to the space just in front of him. Yixing does as directed. “I can use the cards,” Baekhyun says, “Or you can just give me your hands. Like earlier,” he explains.

Yixing narrows his eyes. “You were taking a glimpse earlier?”

“Of course,” Baekhyun soothes, “how else would I know that you’d need a talisman?”

Yixing glances at his hands, then at Baekhyun’s. Again, he’s struck by how clean they are, how smooth and unblemished. They don’t look like the hands of a vagabond, rather, they look like those of a tailor, a pianist, or some other artist.

He offers his hands to Baekhyun, palm up. Baekhyun takes them by the wrist. He rotates Yixing’s left hand to face the stone table, and keeps the right facing the roof.

Just like before, Yixing feels the hair on the back of his neck rise. The hanging air in the tent seems to sink low. The candles stutter and dim. Unlike before, when Baekhyun’s eyes begin to _See_ , the glint is not a passing flicker of change. It’s like a gold disc has eclipsed his irises and his pupils.

“Close your eyes, Zhang Yixing,” Baekhyun murmurs. Yixing never did tell him his name. “And we’ll both take a look.”

Curiosity outweighs apprehension, and his eyes flutter closed.

> _His hands are bathed in red, gore dripping between his fingers and to the floor. At his feet, a hound—ripped open, torn apart. And in front of him a figure holding out a crown and scepter. A figure created by an amalgamation of…_

He blinks open his eyes. His fists are clenched, so strained as to make his knuckles turn white. He’s not sure _what_ he’s seen, the figure too beyond comprehension. But it was _terrifying_.

Baekhyun’s eyes resume their mortality, the gold melting into deep, human brown. “Well, wasn’t that curious?” Baekhyun murmurs, gaze narrowing. “You’ve a lot of bodies to step over,” Baekhyun continues, and now, his tone’s different—sharper, colder.

Yixing takes his hands back. “Perhaps I do,” he agrees. “Though I doubt it’s any of your business.”

Baekhyun blinks, then shrugs. He turns to his side, where a whittled, wooden amulet lies. It’s carved into two shapes. That of a hound, whose jaws are locked around the scruff of the other, the ram, whose horns gore it. Baekhyun strings the piece on a braided length of twine, but does not tie it off yet.

“To make a talisman, you must… make a promise with it. You’ll need an amulet of protection. One that’ll keep you safe while you take on whatever the future has in hold for you.” Baekhyun sets the pendant to the side. “It’ll only promise to keep you safe if you promise it something in return.”

“It’s an object,” Yixing states disbelievingly. “What matter is it if I promise it something or not?”

“It is a conduit for a god—which god doesn’t matter. You need only understand that _something_ lies _beyond_ it. Something that’ll judge your worth, your ambition,” Baekhyun corrects. “Think of what’ll convince it. I’m going to get what’s needed for the spell.” He gets up and exits the tent, the flaps falling shut behind him.

With his absence, Yixing allows for his words to sink in and start to make sense.

In Kaslina, there are no gods. There is only wealth and royalty. Nothing more, nothing less. Spirituality is a dead pursuit. All that can be believed in is oneself.

_What does one promise a god?_

“Have you decided what you’ll offer it?” Baekhyun asks, returning with a dead chicken clasped in hand. He holds a clump of mulch as well, depositing both the dead animal and the rotting leaves onto the stone tablet. He reaches out and undoes one of his packs, taking from it a wooden knife—chipped, but still sharp—a pair of dried chicken feet and bones, and a flask.

“No, but it’ll come to me,” Yixing murmurs, though he has no intention of making such a promise. The gods are not real, not like humans are. He’ll make a promise to Baekhyun before he ever makes a promise to a god.

Baekhyun inclines his head in acknowledgement and holds out his hand, fingers curling in invitation. “Then, let’s begin. Your hand?”

Yixing offers it to him, eyeing the knife warily. But Baekhyun never brings the blade over to his flesh. Instead, he reaches for the flask, uncapping it and pouring the contents into Yixing’s palm. It’s beer, from what Yixing can tell, watered down, but the scent unmistakeable.

He then uses the knife to slash open the chicken’s throat, hanging it above Yixing’s hand, allowing the blood to seep out and splash into his palm. He casts the chicken to the flap of the tent, where his dog snatches it up and drags it out of view.

His touch brings Yixing’s attention back to the ritual, as Baekhyun uses the tip of his finger to smear the blood up each of Yixing’s fingers—making a neat pattern of lines, coating his entire palm with red. Baekhyun then turns and grabs the chicken feet and bones, stringing them onto the same twine that he’d put the whittled amulet upon. Once it’s secure, he ties it off, and places it in Yixing’s hand.

“Make your promise,” Baekhyun murmurs, slicing open his palms and clasping his hands over Yixing’s, holding it shut, applying force on his grip, wetting the back of his hands with _human_ blood.

What does one promise a god? Worship, probably. But Yixing will never worship what does not exist. He can make a promise though, and that is to become as powerful as what he’d seen in that vision. He can promise _himself_ that.

And so, he does.

“I have,” Yixing says.

Baekhyun raises a brow, then leans down and kisses the back of his hand where it’s wrapped around Yixing’s. He whispers something under his breath, and like the snap of a whip, arcana flies through the room, zinging right into their shared grip. It’s like electricity, setting Yixing’s blood alight with _life_.

The amulet seems to pulse in his hand.

Without a doubt, it works. Yixing’s _shocked_ , but pleased, too. And, with the amulet acquired, he no longer has any use for Baekhyun—especially since Baekhyun’s seemed to have seen Yixing’s deepest desires.

As soon as Baekhyun releases his grip on Yixing’s hands, Yixing’s shoving him backwards, clumsily climbing over the stone so that he can straddle Baekhyun’s waist, trapping him beneath his weight.

Baekhyun gasps and lashes out with his fist, clubbing Yixing to the side of the head. He takes the blow with a wince, but it does nothing to knock him off of Baekhyun. He rearranges his seat and pins Baekhyun’s arm with a knee, using his hands to secure a grip around Baekhyun’s long, lithe neck.

And he squeezes, with full intention to _kill_.

Baekhyun slaps uselessly at him with his only free hand, though those slaps quickly change to futile attempts to claw at Yixing’s grip, smearing blood everywhere. His eyes _blaze_ —there’s not a single flash of fear, but of _hatred_ , even as his arms lose their strength, as his skin takes on the appearance of a corpse.

Yixing releases his neck once he’s sure the witch is dead, sitting upright and taking a deep breath, gazing down at Baekhyun’s open-eyed body with little more than disdain.

Until, Baekhyun’s eyes glint—eclipsing gold—and his fist connects with the side of Yixing’s head again. This time, with the shock and surprise, Yixing goes down with the pain. Baekhyun bucks him off and then scrambles to his hands and knees, his chest heaving with rasping, drowning breaths. But he is _alive_.

Yixing gapes, scooting away from the witch, his hand falling to the hilt of his sword.

“You can kill me again and again, Merchant King. I’ll rise up each time, my patience wearing thinner and thinner,” Baekhyun grits out, sneer painting his face. He opens his palms, shows Yixing the blood marring them. “A witch’s pact is difficult to break. Especially one blessed by a god.”

Yixing stares. “Our pact was that I give you a glimpse of my future in exchange for a talisman.”

Baekhyun snorts, “A glimpse wasn’t enough.” He sits back on his calves now, folding his knees neatly, returning his hands to his lap. He’s _smiling_ now too, teeth bloodied from biting his own tongue. “Besides, the talisman would have meant nothing. You didn’t make any offering to a god.”

His mind races, making the connection before Baekhyun can reveal his motive. “You made an offering. You made a promise,” Yixing guess. Baekhyun raises a brow. “What’d you promise it?”

“Glory,” Baekhyun says, “that it receives the same worship _you_ will. That _it_ reigns alongside you. And in exchange, you will not die so long as it is alive—and it will not die so long as you are.”

Yixing’s eyes narrow. “What is _it_? What does it reigning alongside me even mean?”

Baekhyun grins, “I suppose that’s for me to know, and you to find out. Pick up your amulet, Yixing, and get me a horse. We’ll be working together for a while, I’m afraid.”


End file.
